


all this science i don't understand (it's just my job five days a week)

by spock



Category: Westworld (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Complicated Relationships, Dubious Consent, Gaining Consciousness, Identity Issues, M/M, Missing Scenes, Pining, Pre-Canon, Threesome - M/M/M, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-05
Updated: 2019-08-05
Packaged: 2020-05-31 02:05:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19416241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spock/pseuds/spock
Summary: It isn't just suffering that can make a man who he is.





	all this science i don't understand (it's just my job five days a week)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [M J Holyoke (wholeyolk)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholeyolk/gifts).



Slithering on his belly like some piss-poor excuse for a snake, Lawrence can hear the boy making his way through the brush just as sure as if he'd been stood upright and stomping around in those fancy looking boots of his. Figures that Lawrence would run into gentlefolk with too much time on their hands this close to town.

The stealth routine entertains him only so far until as it doesn't. "Hey," he calls out. "Black Mamba! Who you trying to kid?"

The snake rolls over so that Lawrence can see more than just his back wiggling in the dirt. He's older than Lawrence first assumed, though the grin stretched out over his mouth makes him look all of five years old. "I'm on a quest," he says. Looks downright excited about it, too.

For all that he seems to be taking everything about his life as a joke, the kid has sense enough to stay put. His front is covered in dirt and he's got his legs spread wide. There's a good ten or so paces between them, and that's not even accounting for Lawrence maintaining the high ground from where he's sat atop his horse. Lawrence watches as he gets his feet under him, yet makes no move to stand.

"You don't say."

"Yeah," he says, "Looking to capture a man by the name of El Lazo."

Lawrence blinks. Kid's either an idiot or the state really should look into hiring a better artist for those there wanted posters of theirs. Odds are that it's likely both. "Well that'll be a tough one," Lawrence drawls. "That El Lazo is one tricky sumbitch."

The kid laughs. "You don't say?"

He makes a show of getting up all slow-like, hands away from his belt and where Lawrence doesn't have to strain to keep sight of them. "Care to help me in bringing him to justice?" he asks. "I'll make it worth your while."

Wouldn't that be something. The kid's smile has become much more age-appropriate, sharp and bright in the shadow cast off by his hat. "Oh yeah?" Lawrence asks. "You got money or somethin'?"

"Nope," he says, and sounds gleeful about it.

Except Lawrence doesn't buy that for a minute, not with how fine the clothes he's got on are. Still, it's been a long while since Lawrence last met someone who looked at him like a normal man. He can't quite recall the last time he had cause to leave Pariah, his days a hazy mixture that seem to run into one another more often than any one stands out; the only reason he's wandered out this far now is on account of their newest recruit getting cold feet and wanting out.

Most days Lawrence wouldn't think twice about killing ‘em, for wasting his goddamn time if nothing else, but something in him earlier that morning had felt downright charitable, almost in spite of himself. He'd shown the recruit back to town, and now here Lawrence is, talking to a kid that'd just as soon shoot him down if only he knew who it was that he's talking to.

Charitable doesn't quite describe what he's feeling now. This is something akin to fun, and it's twisting up strange and foreign in Lawrence's middle. Has it been so long, almost as if it's the first time he's experiencing it at all?

It's too maudlin a thing to think about with as good looking a man in front of him like this one is. "Suppose that's why you're out looking for the most wanted man in three territories, then,” Lawrence surmises, playin’ along.

"Sure enough."

"What's," Lawrence starts to say, but gets interrupted by his horse shifting between his thighs. He's been here too long, too close to people that aren't loyal to him for want of their livelihoods or fear or both. The next person that stumbles across him likely won't be this particular sort of stupid. Lawrence digs the heels of his boots into the beast's sides to settle it for a moment, buying himself a little more time.

"It's Logan," he says. "My name, that is. Which you were in the middle of asking for."

The balls on him. "Yeah, well — I'm not about to risk my life on money that ain't even a guarantee."

Logan frowns and it's almost comical, how petulant he looks. "I'm known to be somewhat of a sure thing," he says.

Lawrence can't seem to keep himself from drawing this out, not really wanting to leave. Logan doesn't seem all that attached to justice, is the thing. If it really is money that he's after, Lawrence and his crew have enough to share. If it's adventure — well, Lawrence has got even more than that to send Logan's way.

"I might got a lead for you, all the same," Lawrence says. "If you're interested."

"Yeah?" He comes over close to Lawrence, not a trace of fear to be found on him. "What'll it cost me?"

Lawrence smiles, slick as you please. "What're you willing to pay?"

A hand gets set nice and high on Lawrence's leg, little circles drawn onto his thigh. "You'd be surprised."

Lawrence lets go of the reins and uses his freed hand to flick Logan's hat up off his head, sending it careening down into the half-dead brush. It's the first time Lawrence has gotten an actual look at him without the shadow of the brim. He's handsome as sin, borderline gorgeous. That grin of his could sharpen a knife, keen as it is. He has no reason to be looking twice at Lawrence, but Lawrence ain’t about to be the one to tell him that.

He lets out a whistle, long and slow. "Hell boy," he says. “You're wasted on bounty huntin'."

"Yeah?" Logan asks. He looks beyond amused. "What'd'you think my next career move should be then, huh, cowboy? I've been thinking of playing Black Hat anyway."

"I tell you what," Lawrence says, "You ever find yourself in Pariah, come looking for me and I'll help you sort it right out."

Logan groans and takes a fistful of Lawrence's vest. A moment of panic races through Lawrence, sure that he's about to be thrown from his horse, that maybe Logan was playing at not knowing who Lawrence was the entire time. It's always been the case with Lawrence that it's the pretty ones who manage to get him off his game.

But all Logan does is get Lawrence's head of a level so that he can kiss him, practically biting his way into Lawrence's mouth.

"What's stopping you from helping me out right here?" Logan punctuates every few words with a lick between Lawrence's lips, their kisses lush, wild things.

It's been an age since Lawrence last found himself rutting in the middle of a copse of trees. Even on his most reminiscent of days, he can't be pressed into even coming close to feeling half-nostalgic for it, but lord if he isn't tempted right now. "Sorry kid," he says in the end. "Been here too long as it stands."

"That so?" Logan asks. "What're you running from?"

Lawrence just smiles.

Logan shakes his head, ghost of a smile teasing at the corners of his lips. "Fine," he says. "Be that way. Give me another fucking clue and then fuck off on your merry way, you cocktease."

The resignation of it, like Logan hadn't expected anything less than disappointment from Lawrence, is nearly enough to make him want to do something about it. Nothing about Lawrence is expected, after all. His moods are prone to change with the wind and it's a point of pride that he's without loyalty to any _but_ himself.

But — he's too old to be goaded into things, even if he has to remind himself of that fact. "What you're seeking out is war, boy," Lawrence says in the end, figuring that he might as well throw the kid a bone. "And the thing about war is that it usually finds you, not the other way 'round."

"What in the everloving fuck is that even supposed to mean?" Logan shouts, voice thick with disbelief. "Where's a goddamn walkthrough when you need one? How in the hell is anyone meant to figure out this fucking game?" He scrubs a hand through the dark mess of his hair and then frowns at Lawrence. "Well, you may as well kiss me again for my trouble, since that clue fucking sucked."

It's no skin off Lawrence's back to indulge him. He bites Logan's lip hard enough for it to bleed, just to give Logan an idea of what trouble really looks like the next time he encounters it. Lawrence can't help from hoping that it'll be with him again that Logan does.

"Biggest game there is, boy," Lawrence finishes after they've pulled apart and he's sat up straight on his horse again. There's a shock of red staining Logan's mouth; Lawrence can feel that his lips are slick as well. "War," he clarifies.

"I'll look you up in Pariah once I unlock wherever on the fucking map that is, I guess."

Lawrence isn't quite sure what to say to that, so he doesn't a thing at all. His horse is glad to move, signaling as much by making quick work of the upward slope of the hill's edge when Lawrence nudges her in that direction, kicking up distance until Lawrence can no longer make Logan out from the glances he shoots back over his shoulder.

Today's been fucking strange.

Stranger still are Lawrence's emotions; he feels more like himself than he's been in a good long while, even while at the same time he can’t help feeling as though his world hasn’t ever felt quite so nebulous.

Logan certainly’d been a good distraction while he lasted, but now that Lawrence is on his way he focuses on all the things that need seeing to once he’s back in Pariah. There's a shipment of nitroglycerin coming in and Lawrence has cause to see to it that it ends up in his possession by any means necessary.

**\W/**

"Hey!"

The call comes from a ways away, a voice he doesn't recognize. Lawrence's spine tenses up and the two men stationed at his side settle their hands on the hilts of their guns.

Nothing about the town is exactly dark this time of night, even though the sun's long set. Light spills out onto the street from shops that still have their doors open for business, the Muertos Viventes carrying lanterns along with them as they make their way through and causin’ the street to damn near illuminate its damn self.

It all serves to mean that Lawrence can make out the man's face as he approaches from the shadows. He looks almost familiar, in the way all good looking boys tend to seem _almost familiar_ to Lawrence, like he _should_ be in their acquaintance if he isn't already. He twitches his hand, a small movement but one that his men are accustomed to bein’ on the lookout for; their hands shift away from their guns, standing down.

"Guess who finally made it to Pariah," he says to Lawrence. "Not with any thanks to you, Lawrence, you son of a bitch."

Nobody's ever spoken to Lawrence that way in his life, not even his so-called friends back when he was small-time enough to have such things. The few who try usually end up dead once he's finished with his uses for ‘em.

Hell, ain’t nobody called him Lawrence in just about as long. It almost seems like something from a long-forgotten dream, his name spillin’ from this kid's lips. Almost familiar.

"Well alright then," Lawrence says, despite himself. "And I'm your welcoming committee, I suppose?"

"You bet your ass," the words are practically growled. He takes hold of Lawrence by the edge of his jacket and yanks him forward, getting into Lawrence's space, kissing him without much more preamble than that.

It isn't exactly gentle to start, made all the more violent when blood is brought into the mix, the man biting Lawrence's lip hard enough to break the flesh. "There," he says, licking Lawrence's blood out of the corner of his mouth. "Now we're even."

The shock of it gets him a second, maybe two; Lawrence's men swarm up on the man's sides and pull him away before Lawrence can really process whats happened.

"Now, now," Lawrence chastises. He brings the back of his hand up to his mouth, wiping the blood away. "Let's not be hasty, boys. Looks to me like he was just being friendly." To the man, he says, "That it, friend? Seeing as you know my name and all, I think it'd serve you well to remind me of yours."

He's got Lawrence's blood in his teeth when he smiles and says, "We can start with being friends, sure." He shrugs Lawrence's men off and adjusts the line of his jacket. "And it's Logan."

**\W/**

Lawrence blinks up at the ceiling and into the soft light of the morning. There’s a long leg tossed over both of his own. He feels more well-rested than he has in a long, long time and isn't quite sure what to do with himself as a result.

Logan's still dead to the world; head pillowed on Lawrence's shoulder, breathing through his mouth but not making any noise as he does. Figures that the bastard wouldn't let up on the whole being-perfect thing even in his sleep.

Lawrence twists to get a better look at him. "Hey," he says. "We can't all waste day away. Some of us got plans, you know."

It's a pleasure in and of itself to watch Logan stretch himself back into the world of the living, the long line of his body getting just that much longer. Lawrence can't imagine someone like Logan lasting long in this cruel world of theirs, and his stomach twists up thinking about it. Worrying about such things won't do him a lick of good, but that doesn't mean he can stop.

Logan brings a hand up to rub at his eyes and it reveals to Lawrence his arms, little pinpricks at the bend.

"What's that?" Lawrence asks. "Weird spot for a snake to catch you."

Logan smiles like Lawrence has just said somethin’ funny. "It's from a game I play," he says. "When I'm not wasting time here."

Lawrence hates admitting when he doesn't see the forest for the trees. Everything about Logan is a mystery to him, right down to him somehow knowing Lawrence by a name he hasn't gone by since a lifetime ago, saying all these strange things like they're a joke Lawrence should otherwise be privy to.

"Hell of a game," is all he says in the end, and it must be the right thing to say because it draws a laugh outta Logan.

"Oh shit," Logan says all of a sudden, scrubbing at his face once again. "I gotta find Billy."

Lawrence scratches at the hair on his stomach. "You come here with a friend?"

"I wouldn't call him that." Logan snorts. He rolls over onto his front, chin propped up on Lawrence's chest to look up at him through those thick lashes of his. "You're my only friend in this world, Lawrence." He sounds genuine as he says it. Lawrence might actually be of a mind to believe him if he didn't already know Logan so well as he does.

Logan kisses his way from Lawrence's shoulder up to his neck and along his jaw, until he's reached Lawrence's lips, kissing him deep and slow until they have to break apart to breathe. "I wonder what your storyline is," he says. "Nobody that I've asked even seems to know who in the hell you are, you fucking ghost."

"Nothin’ all that interestin'," Lawrence hedges. "And one you'd do well to stay the hell out of if you've got any sense in that head of yours."

"Why, Lawrence, it's like you don't know me at all." Logan sounds gleeful at the prospect. "I've never been accused of having sense in my life."

Lawrence can certainly believe that, even after only having known Logan for a night.

"I really do need to go," Logan says. "I've got a meeting." He sits up and looks around Lawrence's room, eyes landing on the piles of clothes he'd shed the night before. "You gonna be here again tonight?"

It makes Lawrence smile. "Why, you sweet on me already?"

Logan's lips twist into a smile, mildly cruel in its shape, again like he knows something Lawrence doesn't. He rises and starts getting dressed. Lawrence follows suit just so that he doesn't have to sit in his bed all alone and watch Logan ready himself to leave.

Anyhow, Logan isn't the only one with somewhere to be this morning. They part ways outside of Lawrence's, nodding at one another as they head off in opposite directions.

**\W/**

Dealing with the Confederados never fails to leave a bad taste in Lawrence's mouth. He doesn't waste much time speaking with them, smiling where it's needed to keep them placated and then sending them off as quick as he can. They settle their agreement with a round of shots, one that Lawrence can't knock back fast enough, even though the sun isn't anywhere close to bein’ in the middle of the sky.

He's always told his men that he appreciates a breather between appointments, but they never were all that good at following orders that weren't directly tied to their living or dying, eager to get shit done as fast as they can so that they can resume their general debauchery and merrymaking. Lawrence has only just sent the Confederados on their way when he hears Slim's uneven gait laboring his way, making a show of saying, "And I present you: El Lazo!"

Lawrence glances up from his glass, happy to make an impression, and can't help the smile that twitches its way onto the corner of his lips when he sees just who it is that Slim’s brought to him.

"You're a hard man to find," Logan says.

Lawrence nods, sudddenly full of unexpected good humor. "Most wanted men are."

He might've suspected that Logan and his little friend here were the ones who wanted an audience with him. On a good day he certainly would have, but he'd been too busy getting acquainted with Logan in other ways, such as they were, to connect those particular dots.

"We saved your man, Slim, here, from quite a predicament," Logan says. He sits himself down at the table without being invited to. Something about it all feels right to Lawrence, having Logan there, saving Lawrence's men who are too damn stupid to look out for themselves, sitting st Lawrence's like it's where he belongs. Acting like he knows what he's talking about at all, as if he's not some rich boy playing pretend in matters he has no right getting involved in.

Acting like someone that just might stick around for the long haul, period. It’s a nice thought.

"In recompense," Logan continues, "I'd like an introduction to your Confederado friends." Lawrence doesn't bother biting back his sigh. Now why in the hell would Logan want to go ahead and do a fool thing like that?

Logan seems to realize that his companions are hovering around like a couple of horseflies and snaps his fingers at them, muttering _sit down_ under his breath. "It's only fair," he argues at Lawrence.

It's clear who's in charge between Logan and that friend of his, which is good, since Lawrence has only got eyes for Logan anyhow. "There's no such thing as fair here. In Pariah justice ain't just blind, she's crooked. Bitch's scales are always tipped. If you don't see how — well, that's cause they're tipped against you."

Logan, damn him, doesn't seem nothing if not amused. Lawerence tries his hand at changing the subject altogether. There's more to be found in Pariah than the smoldering vestiges of the war, after all. "Still, by way of gratitude, I can supply you a night with some very amenable women."

"I've fucked enough whores."

His and Logan's gaze lock and hold steady, a something charged passing between them. Logan's hand goes for his belt and he pulls out his piece, settling it on the table as he says, "You're gonna need to sweeten the pot."

He forgets that they're sat out there in the middle of town. That anyone in the world exists besides the two of them altogether. Something about it feels familiar, like there was a time before when Logan and he were all alone in some dusty place with nothing but the wind to disturb ‘em.

Lawrence can almost recall flashes of such a meeting in his mind, flirting and threatening in ways that made them two things indistinguishable from one another, one and the same. Logan wanting more than easy company, and turning to Lawrence to help him find such a thing. Him looking at Lawrence with his big, dark eyes and hoping for a touch of trouble.

Sophia's hand slams down atop Logan's on the table. With her other, she catches Logan right on the apple his cheek, sucker-punching him and confiscating up the gun in one fluid movement.

"How 'bout I sweeten it," Lawrence warns, eyeing Logan as he stands up and gets in her face, looking about ready to do something stupid that Lawrence won't be able to save him from without losing face in front of his gang, "by killing you quickly?"

Logan's response to that is to level Lawrence with an unimpressed look, jaw set like he doesn't believe a thing Lawrence says.

His woman companion steps up then, and it's as if Lawrence doesn't even really process what she says once she starts speakin’. Everything goes a bit sideways; Lawrence suddenly recalls some bit information that he can't trace the source back to, something that he knows just as surely as the hair on his head is black.

She looks away from him once she's finished speaking. Lawrence has to work his jaw for a second before it is that he can gather himself reply. "How is it the lunatics always find their way to me?" he asks, buying himself some time.

Lawrence watches her as she blinks, seeming to come back to herself, looking just as unsettled as Lawrence himself feels.

"Then again," Lawrence carries on, feeling more like himself as he turns to look away from where his gaze had drifted to Logan's friends and back to the man himself, "the Confederados are missing a few bullets in their barrels, too. You folks just might get along."

A union convoy's transporting a shipment of nitroglycerin from the front today. The Confederados would like to divest them of said shipment, but we are not welcome that side of the border."

Lawrence isn't even quite sure where this is coming from, truth been told. He hadn't entertained the idea of successfully pilfering that haul, too much damn trouble for hardly any reward. Strangest thing is, he'd gotten word about it more than a few weeks past and hadn't thought of it twice since then. Yet here it was in his mind, all of it coming back to him while the woman had been speakin', a plan unfolding right in his mind's eye.

"A trio of travelers such as yourselves, however," Lawrence allows himself to trail off, his eye catching Logan's. They grin at one another, Logan going so far as to show teeth, biting his lip. Lawrence has no problem in recalling just where he knows that particular expression of Logan's from.

"You want us to help the Confederados steal from the Union?" Logan's friend asks. "They're just gonna use that nitro to slaughter your people below the border."

Lawrence tears his eyes off Logan to look at the friend, annoyed at having been interrupted. "Personal grudges have no sway where profit is concerned," he explains, and saying it leaves him feeling more like himself than he has since Logan first showed up. He's level, calm. His words carrying in a steady cadence. It's El Lazo's voice.

"Oh," Logan cuts in with a drawl, and Lawrence turns to look back at him. "We understand. We're businessmen, too."

**\W/**

Lawrence has to shift Slim's hand over onto his chest to get at the case of nitro, checking that the bottles inside are what he sent Logan and those friends of his for. It’s a shame that only Slim’s body made it back and not his soul, but the man had already been on borrowed time as is was. Lawrence will be getting revenge for Slim soon enough anyhow.

He whistles and the Confederados come slinking over their way. "Had my doubts, El Lazo," Norris says, "but you came through." His second in command hands him a sack, and he passes it right on to Lawrence, heavy with payment for goods and services rendered.

"We're gonna blow these cactus-eaters back to the dirt holes they crawled from," Norris finishes, visibly excited at the prospect.

Lawrence doesn't much care for the sumbitch on a good day, but he has to reign back his reaction just then, fighting to keep it from showin’ on his face.

"Let's get it down to the station; no time to waste."

"If I may, Captain,” Lawrence interjects, “your men are weary. It's a long road ahead. You have secured a great victory for your cause today. Perhaps an evening of celebration's in order?"

He gestures behind him, Logan moving out of the way to look for himself at what Lawrence is pointing to, revealing a trio of girls from the Mausoleum coming up the road, gleaming in gold paint with their bodies bared to the world.

"What do you say, capt'n?" Logan asks. "There's another train in the mornin'."

Lawrence couldn't have planned on this going any better. Logan and he are a pretty good sales team, turns out. He hasn’t ever considered what it might be like to have a partner at his side that as good at scheming and sweet-talking like Lawrence is, but he is certainly entertaining the thought now.

'course, seems like Lawrence isn't the only one coming to such a conclusion. Norris loops his arm over Logan's shoulder and says, "You will be a true asset to our ranks," dragging Logan back towards the Mausoleum and all the degeneracy that exists within.

**\W/**

It would seem that Logan hadn't been lying with all his talk of being tired of whores. For all of his apparent excitement to witness the depths of Pariah's turpitude, he doesn't do much more than that, keeping close to his friends once they're settled inside the party — close to Norris.

Lawrence makes his rounds inside the Mausoleum, staying visible as to not arise suspicions. He eventually heads over to the three of them, bottle in hand. "Another round, on the house."

He sees to the Captain first. Logan is quick to drain his glass while he waits his turn, head thrown back. Lawrence's attention is pulled away from the gorgeous picture Logan's long line of a neck makes by Norris noting, "There's a place in Glory for a brown man who knows his rank."

Lawrence forces a smile onto his face, not allowing himself to look back at Logan. He shares a conspirational look with Norris as he refills Logan's glass. _I'm gonna blow your fucking ignorant ass to the damn moon_ , Lawrence thinks. _You limp-dicked fuck_.

He knows himself well enough to realize he shouldn't dawdle; there's only so much bullshit he can smile at before those thoughts manifest themselves into words. He drifts off to the edges of the room, keeping an eye trained on Norris, and Logan by association, ensuring that the Captain doesn't wander off and see something he needs to stay ignorant towards for a while longer.

It isn't much time after Lawrence has stepped away before Logan and his friend seem to cross words, getting right up in one another's faces.

There's nothing for Lawrence to do but step in to break things up when that friend gets Logan pinned up on the wall, hands too close to Logan’s neck for Lawrence’s comfort. He’s become quite partial to Logan's face and he isn't of a mind to see it bruised and busted up, even though he's come to the conclusion that Logan must be the type to wear bruises well, given his propensity towards that general attitude his.

"Right buddy," Logan's saying, only just released so that he’s standing on his own two feet again, already seeming to be provoking his friend into rage yet again. "That's what I thought."

"Hey now," Lawrence interjects, coming up between the two of them at their sides. He settles his hand on the friend's belly, keeping him held back a step in case he's reconsidering giving Logan those bruises. "It ain't that kind of party."

He glances down and can see just how hard Logan in, visible even with his shirt half-untucked and the thick wool of his trousers. His friend is much more done-up; his arousal all more blatant for it.

"Or maybe it is," Lawrence allows.

Logan turns to look at him, eyes wild. He surges forward into the small amount of space between them and kisses Lawrence, going in deep the moment Lawrence opens his mouth to him. The friend watches them, shocked, but not making to move away at all.

Lawrence relishes in the feel of Logan's strong fingers gripping at his jaw, but it's in no time at all that Logan pulls back and drops down to his knees, fingers making even quicker work of Lawrences' fly. Lawrence hadn't even really noticed himself getting hard from the kiss. Though, even in spite of their short acquaintance, he isn't surprised to find that Logan has developed a sense for such things.

He takes Lawrence into his mouth right-quick, not pulling back even as Lawrence settles deep into the back of it, a loud, wet click drawn out of the depths of Logan's throat as he struggles to accommodate Lawrence's length. Knees suddenly feeling quite weak, Lawrence plants his hand on the stone wall to the side of him to help keep upright.

Logan’s friend makes a strangled noise of his own. It’s only thanks to it that Lawrence recalls that he’s there at all. "Boy's made for this," Lawrence says to him, trying not to judge himself for how thin his voice sounds even to his own ears.

The friend licks his lips, eyes anchored down at Lawrence's lap, at Logan's head there, taking care of Lawrence in ways that even the professionals regularly employed at this particular establishment could stand to learn from. "I wouldn't know," he says.

Logan gets his hand around the base of Lawrence's cock and holds it steady, pulling off to run his lips over to head, kissing and mouthing at it. It allows him a moment to speak, and focus shifts over to his friend for a moment. "Why, you wanna find out Billy?" His voice is a mess, rough and raw from where he'd had Lawrence's cock deep in the back of his throat.

He flashes a quick smile up at Lawrence, no longer looking Billy's way. "My sister knows that what happens in Westworld, stays in Westworld — and what's a threesome between brothers anyway?" He presses a kiss right onto the head of Lawrence's dick again, his hand still holding it steady in front of his face. "Not like you're ever gonna get around to fucking that robot girlfriend of yours, anyway."

Lawrence has a more than a couple of questions about every single word of that, a handful of them popping into his mind all at once. All of them are easily pushed aside in favor of focusing on the sensation of Logan taking him right back into his mouth, lips sliding down until they hit the root of him. At just about the same moment, his hand comes up to rub at the front of Billy's pants.

Billy's hands have been awkwardly hovering at his hips, like he hasn't known what to do with them. He appears to have finally made up his mind, setting one right on the crown of Logan's head, fingers settling into that dark, thick hair like they’d only been waiting for the indication that they might be welcome to do so.

Logan's good at multitasking, head bobbing up and down the length of Lawrence while his hand keeps up rhythmic squeezes on Billy, working him through the fabric of his pants. Lawrence's eyes flit back and forth between Logan's face and his hand, the sight of one making the other just that much more arousing, the view working him up just as much as the sensations themselves.

"I'm gonna shoot," he pants, wanting to give Logan some warning even though he knows from experience that Logan isn't shy about swallowing his due.

This time Logan does pull back though, shifting his grip so that it’s his hand that’s now pistoning up and down Lawrence's cock just like his mouth had been only seconds prior. Lawrence spills himself across Logan's face for a few pulses, painting him white before Logan goes and dives back in, taking Lawrence into his mouth to finish off the rest.

"Jesus wept." It's the only thing Lawrence can think to say at the sight Logan makes. Lawrence can’t claim to know all that much about the man, his family’s church-going habits being what they were, but he’d expect they’d not be anything less than tears of joy, if their lord and savior had any amount of sense about him.

Billy's breathing is labored, heavy gasps to Lawrence’s right that seem to echo even in the loud commotion in the room, though there isn't a soul that's paying them much mind, all of ‘em too caught up in their own pleasures.

Logan smiles up at Lawrence, visibly pleased with himself, before his eyes slide over to his friend, slick like oil moving through water.

His fingers tease the flap of Billy's fly, toying with the zipper. Whether it’s in invitation or threat, Lawrence can't quite tell.

**\W/**

Disappointment settles into the pit of Lawrence’s stomach when it's William and his lady friend that bound their way onto the train, Logan nowhere to be seen.

Not that Lawrence can let it show. Attachments do little but harm for a man such as himself, usually by way of hurt coming to those for which he feels said attachment. Case in point, and all that.

'sides, Billy isn't too bad a partner to play cards with.

The farther the train takes him from Pariah, the more like himself Lawrence starts to feel. It's physical, his voice coming into itself again, his body language feeling so much less foreign, but it doesn't quite stop there neither. His thoughts seem clear and yet hazy at the same time. He knows what he needs to say now, his plans sharp, clear in his mind. It's just — the reasoning behind them is a mystery to him beyond the most surface level, as if he's just doing things like it's what's expected of him, free will not required.

Around Logan he kept feeling almost hyper-aware of what is was he was doing, of the strangeness and novelty within all their interactions, like something wasn’t right even though Lawrence completely understood the psychology and reasoning behind his actions. It hadn't ever had to do with Logan, but with Lawrence himself. He realizes now that he was terrified, a bit, at how Logan kept him off-balance. Lawrence feels like he was just on the brink of realizing something with Logan, even if he has no worldly idea what it is that thing could be, all of it slipping through his fingers like sand with each mile that grows between them.

Billy is easy, though, like a puzzle Lawrence solved ages ago. They talk a little, about things that Lawrence can't entirely bring himself to care about, so caught up in his own thoughts as he is; it's almost like he's reading from a script, though Billy seems to be hanging on his every word, blind to how Lawrence is just going through the motions.

The two of them had shared something intimate not even a full night prior, yet Billy can't even seem to read Lawrence well enough to realize that if Lawrence had his way, Logan would be here in Billy's stead.

Though it's entirely possible such shared events are what has Billy trusting Lawrence so much to begin with. It's always hard to tell with some men.

"And yet, here you are," Lawrence says, leaning in close, his elbows hitting the table, telling Billy what it is that he so desperately wants to hear. That's always been a skill of his, lying those so eagerly looking to be deluded. "Your friend didn't make it this far. Maybe you got more of an appetite for this than you think."

And that, at least, Lawrence means. Billy seems to sense this, if nothing else, staring at Lawrence as hard as he is.

**\W/**

Lawrence has fallen from his men's favor as of late. It's not the end of the world — Pariah's been startin’ to feel a touch too close to the prison Lawrence's been dodging all this time anyhow.

He's been keeping close to the unclaimed territories as a result, a place where nobody with sense would risk looking for him, even with the bounty that's been steadily acclimating over his head all these years.

Those without such sense aren't too hard to get the drop on. Take the man Lawrence has only just finished hogtying in what passes for his front yard, for instance, face pressed hard into the dirt as Lawrence doublechecks the tension in his knot.

"Alright then, state your business." Lawrence uses the tip of his boot to roll the man onto his back so that Lawrence can see his face.

"Well damn," the man says. "This certainly isn’t as warm a welcome as last time, is it, El Lazo?"

Lawrence snorts and spits into the dirt near the man's head. "If you think havin’ met me before and havin’ lived to tell the tale is supposed to be endearing, you're mistaken."

He makes his way back to his little fire, pressing the back of his hand to the tin kettle he's got hanging over it, checking to see if it’s finally hot enough to drink. "Seems you know my name, but I don't recall yours." He glances back over his shoulder and sees that the man has managed to sit up. "I don't appreciate being at a disadvantage."

"William," he says. "We're friends from way back."

Lawrence pours himself a cup of coffee and sits down on the rock he’d dragged to his camp to serve as a chair. Sipping on his drink, he takes William in; neatly trimmed beard and fine clothes covered in dust from Lawrence having so successfully taken him down. It’s the face of a man that’s lived an easy life, nobody Lawrence would have cause to cross paths with and leave breathing, but then there’s something around his eyes, maybe, that Lawrence can recall, but just as quick as the half-formed memory comes to him, it’s gone.

"That's funny," Lawrence says, "I wasn't aware I had any friends."

**\W/**

"The name's William, Lawrence, and I'm getting real tired of introductions."

"Maybe if you stopped imposing yourself into people's lives without invitation, you'd have less of them to make, Billy."

William's laughter is cut short, eyes narrowing as his stare zeros in on Lawrence. His face goes hard in the same instant, vicious in a way that Lawrence hadn't thought the man had in him at first glance. He's usually so good at reading people, a necessity with the life he’s lead. It throws him off balance to have so misjudged William.

"What?" Lawrence asks, hand landing on his hip, close enough to his gun in a way he hopes passes for casual.

"You called me Billy," William notes. "You've never done that before."

They've only known one another for a good hour, give or take how generous Lawrence feels up to being. Seems a little off to Lawrence to use a word like _never_ given so short an acquaintance. "Common enough nickname," Lawrence hedges, unable to explain even to himself why he’d think to use it.

"I suppose." Willam goes back to turning down his bed for the night.

William’s gotten them a shared room at the one boarding house this blip of a town has, if it can even pass as such, Lawrence speaking both of the hotel and the town itself. He’d somehow known that Lawrence would need to keep his head down now that they were around gentlefolk, the wanted posters for El Lazo already slapped up on the freshly erected walls of the lawman’s office. The only reason Lawrence had agreed to stay the night to consider William’s hair-brained proposal of scalp hunting together was due to the bastard somehow managing to procure himself a bottle of Lawrence’s favorite whiskey and being smart enough to offer to share. It’s possible that Lawrence made a mistake in not insisting William get them each their own room.

"You always overreact like that?" Lawrence can't help himself from asking, still shaken from the intensity of William’s attentions. "Or am I just special?"

William laughs again. Seems the man is of the mind that Lawrence is hilarious. There are worse impressions to make on this sort of a man, of that Lawrence is sure.

"Y'know Lawrence, I always used to wonder why it was you out of all of 'em that Logan took a shine to," he says. "But after all these years of ours, I’ve got to admit that I’ve started to see the appeal."

The name pulls at him, like hearing the title of a song that he couldn’t quite recall the tune to, though he knows he should.

"Who's Logan?" he asks, unable to fight back the urge needling at his insides. "Way you’re talkin’ about him, I'm surprised you don't carry him 'round in your goddamn pocket."

William sits down on his bed with a heavy thump, pulling at the kerchief around his neck and usin’ it to mop at his forehead inside the stuffy room. Lawrence knows better than to open up the window until the sun's set and the traffic outside has cleared. The warm, late afternoon breeze isn't worth the dust all those horses below are kicking up.

"Nobody, now, I suppose." William lays down on his back, staring up at the ceiling as he speaks. "Died just last week. Only just buried him yesterday."

Lawrence can't explain it, but an emotion twists in him at the news. Unexplainable but ugly.

"That so?" he asks, and somehow means it for just about the first time in his life when he says, “sorry to hear it."

**\W/**

"You're a hard man to track down, El Lazo," a man calls. "Seems like they finally gave you a new narrative."

Donald Pardue and his worthless whoreson of a brother are getting cold at Lawrence's feet, bled dry from the neat little bullet holes Lawrence littered into their bodies. They've been thorns in Lawrence's side for a while now, constantly making attempts at the outer reaches of his claim. The straw that had broken his particular camel's back had been one too many a nasty comment as to the color of Lawrence’s skin. There was only so much a man could take before he'd revert to murdering ways, and Lawrence has reached it.

"Haven't been called that in a long while," Lawrence answers, turning to see who it is that's talking to him. He can't make out the man's face with the way the sun's damn near directly behind him, casting the whole shape of him into shadow. For all Lawrence knows, it's a goddamn centaur up there.

"It's William," he says, introducing himself as his horse scales the side of the cliff, coming down to where Lawrence is standing.

"Pleased to meet you." Lawrence watches him as he comes. When he finally sees William's face, it's one he doesn't recognize. The man is a good ten years older than Lawrence if he's a day, and Lawrence figures that he can take William if he needs to. "You gonna help me with this, or you just looking to join 'em?"

William grins. "I'm always on your side, Lawrence. When will you finally start to remember that?"

Between the two of them, it's easy to dig deep enough that the coyotes won't unearth their hard work. In the Pardue brothers go, one on top of the other.

When they’re finished, Lawrence says, "I'm starting to believe all that bullshit of yours about us being friends after all."

"Well as long as you believe it, Lawrence." William takes off his hat and wipes the sweat from his brow, the breeze catching at his thinning hair. He walks over to his horse and fishes out his canteen, taking long drinks from it until he's had his fill.

He offers it to Lawrence like it's only just occurred to him that he should extend the courtesy, but Lawrence waves him off, suddenly unnerved. "Where did you say we met again?" Lawrence presses.

"In a past life." It's the third time he's answered as such, and it's starting to piss Lawrence off.

"Yeah," he says. "Well, I guess I'll see you in another fifty-odd years then, Billy. Nice knowing ya."

He walks off, back towards his little homestead, knowing that he'll probably have to show his face in town soon just to keep up appearances and hope that nobody catches wind of him finally ridding himself of those idiot brothers.

William doesn't say anything about Lawrence leaving, which probably should have been Lawrence's first clue that their little reunion wasn't quite yet done, in retrospect.

It's dark by the time he finally makes it back home on foot, his horse having been scared off when Lawrence had started shooting. The first thing he sees is the light of his fireplace shining through the window at the front of the house. His front door is open, illuminating the porch and ensuring that Lawrence can see William sat out on the steps. His horse is grazing free near the woods off to the side of the house, likely remembering the way home on his own and loyal enough to Lawrence to return of his own volition.

"Been twenty years already, huh?"

William smiles. He's carving up an apple, feeding the slices to himself off the blade. Lawrence hopes the bastard didn't steal it from the bowl he keeps on his table — it's the last one he had.

"Time flies when you're having fun," William says back.

Lawrence steps around him as he makes his way up the steps. William is quick to follow, closing the door behind them once they’re inside. All Lawrence wants is to bathe, but the little house he's built for himself only has the one room, and he isn't keen on being divested of his gun and being so exposed with William nearby.

He sits down on the single chair he's made, scrubbing his grimy hands through the sweaty mess of his hair. The bowl on his table is empty.

Motherfucker.

William carries over a bucket of water that Lawrence hadn't even noticed was sat near the inside of the door. He sits it on the table, near Lawrence's elbow, Lawrence’s washin’ rag wrapped around the handle. William's still got about half the apple in his other hand, and he offers it to Lawrence.

Lawrence looks from the apple up to William. "Right charitable of you," he says, disdain thick on his tongue. "My hands are disgusting, however."

With a shrug, William cuts off a piece and holds it to Lawrence's lips. He's got gloves on his hands, but they look clean, free of the grave dirt that's staining Lawrence's skin. Lawrence is too hungry and too tired to care about the intimacy of it. He draws the piece between his teeth and takes his time in chewing it.

There isn't another place for William to sit, so he stands at Lawrence's side. Lawrence can feel William's eyes on him as he rolls up his shirtsleeves and fishes the basin out from under the table, filling it with the water William's fetched for him. He gets the grime off his face first, scrubbing hard with the rag at his neck before moving on to cleaning off his arms, working at gettin’ the dirt out from under his nails.

"Did you know he was a little bit sweet on you?" William asks, voice breaking the silence. Lawrence hasn't the faintest clue who _he_ might be referring too, but he's too tired to ask and doesn't quite give a shit besides. Could be that there's another Lawrence out there that William’s got him confused with. Could be that William has lost his goddamn mind.

"After all the shit he gave me for Dolores, too," William continues. "I was going through some press clippings and saw that he brought you to one of those fucking galas before it all went pear-shaped for him. Can you believe that?"

A piece of paper is sat on the table, out of the path of any stray water droplets but near enough where Lawrence can see. Lawrence blinks at it for a minute, trying to bring back the image of himself smiling alongside a gorgeous man with a dark shock of hair.

He turns to look and meet William's eye. "Doesn't look like anything to me."

**\W/**

A man manages to get the drop on him while he's making his way home through the forest one night. Maybe Lawrence's age is finally starting to catch up with him.

It takes about a second for Lawrence to realize that the motherfucker is drunk off his ass, which is rather embarrassing on Lawrence’s part. It takes a second on top of that to figure out that his captor is after more than money this particular evening. He paws at Lawrence, hands clumsy with their aim but more than clear enough in their intentions.

He knows that some men have to get this way, black-out and numb to whatever guilt it is that they're carrying with them that keeps ‘em from indulging themselves with this in their more lucid hours. Lawrence has never much understood it, but it wasn't long after he'd found himself with a family that Lawrence had realized where his preferences lay, and he'd had no such guilt about fucking right off to indulge them.

Speaking of —

"Do you know who I am?" the man asks, words slurring together so much that Lawrence has to strain to pick them apart. His hands are like vices at Lawrence's hips, keeping him pinned down to the hard earth where the grass tickles at Lawrence's nose where his cheek is pressed against the ground.

Strangely enough, Lawrence feels just like he might. There's something about the weight, the scent of him. He stretches the confines of his memory, grasping for something. "Billy?" he guesses, trying out the name that's suddenly come to him.

The man startles. It's enough for Lawrence to turn the tables, throwing his weight back against Billy and creating enough space so that Lawrence can turn himself over. It's a full moon, the forest lit up damn-near like it's daytime. Billy's hovering above him, face a picture of shock even through the haze of his drunkenness. He looks raw for a second, their eyes catching. Then something hard settles over his face.

"This fucking company," he says. "They'll pull out anything to give a guest a cheap thrill."

With a shake of his head, Billy raises onto his knees and starts to paw at Lawrence's fly. Lawrence catches Billy's hands in his own, stilling them. "Hey now," he says, voice calm and gentle-like as his breathing starts to come back to itself, that initial rush of adrenaline leaving him now that he’s realized his life isn’t in danger. "Ain't no reason why we both can't enjoy this, is there?"

He brings Billy's hands up to his face and takes the time to bite off the man's gloves, throwing them off to the side. He licks at Billy's fingers, getting them nice and slick while Billy uses his free hand to get Lawrence's pants off his hips and down his thighs, Lawrence kicking them off after he's rid himself of his boots first.

Billy takes his time in fingering him, pressing in deep, so that the palm of his hand cups the swell of Lawrence's ass, two, three and then Lawrence has his legs spread wide, letting William fuck him right there in the bush, hidden just off the main path by a copse of trees.

"You ever do this with him?" Billy asks, each word sounding like it's being punched out of him, spoken in the rhythm of his thrusts.

He's a good lay, that much Lawrence can remember about Billy, even in the haze of their fucking. He recalls a time past when he’d been spread out on his bed with Billy sitting down on the floor, taking care of himself with his hand as his mouth went to work on satisfying Lawrence.

"With who?" Lawrence can’t keep from panting as he speaks.

Billy laughs, brittle. His mouth his right next to Lawrence's ear, hands wrapped around Lawrence's back to give them both some leverage in the face of the slick evening dew lining the grass. The sensation of it sends a shiver up Lawrence's spine. "Logan," Billy clarifies.

A face hovers just at the edge of Lawrence's memory, more a feeling than anything else. Laughter, a cheek pressed to his chest in a sleep-warm bed, feeling like he's the butt of a joke but not minding in the slightest because it meant Logan was smiling as a result, just as pleased with Lawrence as he was with himself.

"No," Lawrence says, though he can't know for certain. It's just a feeling in him, the melancholy of missed opportunity. Regret. "Don't think we ever had the chance." He licks his lips as something occurs too him, trying to decide if his is a question that he truly wants to the answer to.

He's old enough to know that ignorance can be bliss, and that little good comes from knowing things. ‘course, age hasn’t done much to tamper the orneriness in him that has him wantin’ to press on such a particular wound anyway. "Why?” he can't stop from asking in the end. “You jealous?"

Billy stops thrusting, body tight like wire as he comes inside of Lawernce. Lawrence lays there while Billy's tenses his way through his orgasm, wondering if he'll be getting his tonight or if Billy really is too drunk to be good for it.

To his credit, Billy solves that particular mystery rather quickly, reaching between them and taking hold of Lawrence. He makes quick work of bringing Lawrence off, grip exactly how Lawrence likes it, speed just right. He plays Lawrence like a fine-tuned instrument, a man with years of practice behind his belt.

They lay there in the aftermath, the sweat cooling off their skin in the warm midsummer night’s breeze. Lawrence is full of even more questions now, but he knows better than to give voice to them.

"Do you believe in fate, Lawrence?"

Lawrence doesn't feel a need to consider his answer. "If the bitch exists, I'd like to kick her in the teeth right about now."

Billy laughs. "Y'know, it took me until recently to realize that my path kept leading me back to him, much as I hate to admit it." Lawrence shifts under him, his hips starting to ache. Billy takes it as a sign to pull out and does as such, slowly. Lawrence sits up, rolling his shoulders to get some of the feeling back into 'em.

"And it seems like your path leads you back to me — what'd'you think that means?"

Now _that_ Lawrence does consider for a moment, before he recalls that Billy is off his fuckin’ head and is likely just spouting off the deluded ramblings of a self-obsessed fool that isn't much worth entertaining. "Maybe that you enjoy the pleasure of my company,” he says, humoring Billy only as much as he deserves, “you melancholic fuck."

Billy stretches his arms out over his head and smiles. He almost looks shy, eyes cast down to the grass.

"Why, maybe I do," Billy says, after a time. "There's not a man in the world who'd dare to take the tone with me that you do, Lawrence." He seems to think the better of that, after a second. "In a past life, perhaps."


End file.
